After the death of the queen, Lady Yarmouth came over, who had been the King's miftrefs at Hanover during his latter journeys-and with the queen's privity, for he always made her the confidante of his amours; which made Mrs Selwyn once tell bim, he fhould be the laft man with whom she would have an intrigue, for the knew he would tell the queen. In his letters to the latter from Hanover, he faid, You must love the Walmo den, for the loves me? She was created a countefs, and had much weight with him, but never employed her credit but to affilt his minifters, or to convert fome honours and favours to her own advantage. She had two fons, who both bore her husband's name; but the younger, though never acknowledged, was fuppofed the king's, and confequently did not mifs additional homage from the courtiers. That incenfe being one of the recommendations to the countenance of Lady Yarmouth drew Lord Chefterfield into a ridiculous diftrefs. On his being made fecretary of tate, he found a fair young lad in the antichamber at St James's, who feeming much at home, the Earl, concluding it was the miftrefs' fon, was profufe of attentions to the boy, and more prodigal ftill of his prodigious regard

for his mamma. The fhrewd boy received all his Lordship's vows with indulgence, and without betraying himfelf:-at laft he faid, I fuppofe your Lordship takes me for master Louis; but I am only Sir William Ruffel, one of the pages.'

The king's laft years paffed as regularly as clock work. At nine at night he had cards in the apartment of his daughters the princeffes Amelia and Caroline, with Lady Yarmouth, two or three of the late queen's ladies, and as many of the moft favoured officers of his own houshold. Every Saturday in fummer he carried that uniform party, but without his daughters, to dine at Richmond; they went in coaches and fix in the middle of the day, with the heavy horfe guards kicking up the duft before them, dined, walked an hour in the garden, returned in the fame dufty parade; and his majefty fancied himself the most gallant and lively prince in Europe.

His last year was glorious and triumphant beyond example; and his death was moft felicitous to himself, being without a pang, without tasting a reverfe, and when his fight and hearing were fo nearly extinguished, that any prolongation could but have fwelled to calamities.

(To be concluded in our next.)

THE

HERE is an anecdote, which Macklin has often related with that luxuriant force of defcription, which characterifed his ftory telling. As it happened about the period of the history of the ftage at which we are now arrived (1734); and as it may serve to throw fome light on the

difpofition of Quin, and his unprovoked rudeness to the actors, we prefent it to our readers, nearly in the words of the old gentleman, as he told it, in the year 1787, at the Rainbow coffee-houfe, in King-fireet, Covent garden, to an acquaintance, who asked him, if Quin and be had ever quarrelled?

quarrelled? Many perfons, in the adjoining boxes, attended to the veteran, who fpoke, as ufual, in a very audible voice; but exhibited, in the course of the narration (as the reader will perceive) ftrong proofs of the rapid decay of his memory. Yes, Sir; I was very low in the theatre, as an actor, when the furly fellow was the defpot of the place. But, Sir, I had had a lift, Sir. Yes, I was to play the-the-the boy with the red breeches ;—you know whom I mean? - Jerry Blackacre, I fuppofe, Sir' Aye, Sir, Jerry-Well, Sir, I began to be a little known to the public, and, egad, I began to make them laugh;—I was called the Wild Irishman, Sir; and was thought to have fome fun in me: and I made them laugh heartily in the boy, Sirin Jerry.

When I came off the ftage, the furly fellow, who played the fcolding captain in the play; captain-captain -you know who I mean.'- Manly, I believe, Sir,'--' Aye, Sir, the fame Manly. Well, Sir, the furly fellow began to fcold me, told me I was at my damned tricks; and that there was no having a chafte fcene for me. Every body, nay, egad, the manager himself, was afraid of him. I was afraid of the fellow, too, but not much.-Well, Sir, I told him, that I did not mean to disturb him by my acting; but to fhew off a little myfelf. Well, Sir, in the other fcenes I did the fame, and made the audience laugh incontinently -and he fcolded me again, Sir.-I made the fame apology; but the furly fellow would not be appeafed. Again, Sir, however, I did the fame; and when I returned to the green room, he abused me like a pickpocket, and faid I must leave off my damned tricks.—I told him I could not play otherwife. He faid, I could, and I fhould. Upon which, Sir, egad, I faid to him fatly-you lie! He was chewing an apple at this moment; and, Ed. Mag. June 1799.

fpitting the contents into his hand, he threw them in my face' Indeed!' It is fact, Sir!-Well, Sir, I went up to him directly (for I was a great boxing cull in thole days) and pushed him down into a chair, and pumelled his face damnably.' You did right, Sir.'

no

He ftrove to refift; but he was match for me ;-and I made his face fwell fo with the blows, that he could hardly fpeak. When he attempted to go on with his part, Sir, he mumbled fo, that the audience began to hifs. Upon which he went forward, and told them, Sir, that fomething unpleasant had happened, and that he was really very ill. But, Sir, the moment I went to strike him, there were many noblemen in the green-room, full dreffed, with their words, and large wigs: (for the green-room was a fort of stateroom, then, Sir)-Well, they were all alarmed, and jumped upon the benches, waiting, in filent amazement, till the affair was over.

At the end of the play, Sir, he told me I must give him fatisfaction; and that, when he changed his dress, he would wait for me at the Obelisk, in Covent-garden. I told him I would be with him: but, Sir, when he was gone, I recollected that I was to play in the pantomime, (for I was a great pantomime boy in thofe days) fo, Sir, I faid to myself-damn the fellow, let him wait; I won't go to him till my bufinefs is all over; let him fume, and fret, and be damned! Well, Sir, Mr Fleetwood, the manager, who was one of the best men in the world-all kindness, all mildnefs, and gracioufnefs, and affability

had heard of the affair; and as Quin was his great actor, and in favour with the town, he told me I had had revenge enough; that I fhould not meet the furly fellow that night; but that he would make the matter up fome how or other.

Well, Sir, Mr Fleetwood ordered

mg.

me a good fupper, and fome wine, and made me fleep at his house all night, to prevent any meeting. Well, Sir, in the morning, he told me, that I muft, for his sake, make a little apology to Quin, for what I had done.And fo, Sir, having given him a bellyful, I, to oblige Mr Fleetwood (for I loved the man) did, Sir, make fome apology to him, and the matter dropped.'

Anecdote of Rich, the Manager. Rich was not by any means liberal to his actors, but he was remarkable for his charity and humanity. A fhort time before his death, a man fell from the upper gallery into the pit of Covent-garden theatre, by which one of his limbs was broke: as he was a perfon in very low circumftances, Mr Rich very generously ordered that he fhould have every poffible affiftance, which was accordingly administered at Mr Rich's expence. When the poor man recovered, he waited on the manager to return him thanks for his humanity, and goodnefs; on which Mr Rich told him, that he should be welcome to the free dom of the pit, provided he would never think of coming into it in that manner again!

Macklin.

There was one circumftance occurred during the rehearsal of this piece (The True Born Irishman, a farce, written by Macklin) which we fhall take leave to mention here. One of the performers, to inftruct whom Mr Macklin had taken infinite pains, having occafion to announce Lady Kinnegad,' and not pronouncing the name as the veteran liked, he stepped up to him, and, in an angry tone, exclaimed, What trade are you, Sir?'-The performer replied

Sir, I am a gentleman! Then,' rejoined the ftage Nefter, ftick to that, Sir; for you will never be an actor"

Letter to his Daughter.
Dublin, Feb. 21, 1764.

Dear Poll,

Yours of the 28th of January, I received fome time ago; and this inftant that of the 16th inftant; and am glad to find, that even the expectation of a new farce from me, or the hopes of feeing me in London, to play for your benefit, has had sufficient influence on you, to make you punctual in answering my letter. As to lending you a new farce, I cannot pay fo ill a compliment to you, the public, or my own fame, as to fend you one that I had not been nice about; nay, rather more so than if it had been for my own benefit or emolument as an author. Your character has been nicely conducted hitherto, even in your profeffion, as well as in that of real life; and I hope you will fcorn to offer the public a piece, merely to fill your galleries or your houfes. No, you have been nicely conducted, I fay, hitherto; continue it even about your benefits.

I have always loved the conscious worth of a good action, more than the profit that would arise from a mean or a bad one; and, depend upon it, there is a wealth in that way of thinking; and I feel the value of it at this inftant, and in every viciffitude of my life; but particularly in those of the adverse kind. Had it been in my power to have fent you a piece worthy of your night and fame, be affured I would; but it was not in my power. I have written a great deal this winter, but I find, the more I write, and the older I grow, the harder I am to be pleased. I do not know whether I told you in my laft, that I am reduced in my sustenance, entirely to fifli, herbage, puddings, or fpoon meat, not being able to chew any meat harder than a French bouille. And now I have told you, what am I the better? But old age, and inva lids, think all their friends are obliged to attend to their infirmities.